


The Beast You Made of Me

by PrimroseReality



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Blue Bloods - Melissa de la Cruz, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimroseReality/pseuds/PrimroseReality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wishes she could go back to that moment in that small room, the taste of her first gulps of blood still on her lips, no memories of the past in her head except ones that she thought to be just the hopeful dreams of a girl enamoured. Then that woman said it: vampire. It came out so easily for her, like it was the simplest thing in the world to change Sansa’s whole world. Yes, she would go back there if she could, perhaps to that first morning of junior year as she lay in Margaery’s bed with only the worries of a silly little girl who wouldn’t admit that she still loved fairy tales. But it won’t change anything. It never will. </p>
<p>Vampire (Blue Bloods Based) AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may have possibly read my first chapter of the Wolf Loved the Rose, I decided to take in a different direction but this does have a few lines from that. This has some aspects of the Melissa de la Cruz Blue Bloods ideas if you have read that series before. The title comes from Florance and the Machine's song Howl, which I listened to while writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

There’s something happening to Sansa. It’s like she can feel her blood surging through her veins. Then of course there are the dreams. The clarity in them is like nothing she has ever dreamt before. It’s a problem because they’re bleeding into her every day life. She can no longer pretend that it is only in her confused dreams that she feels the pull to Margaery, the desire. An ache the likes of which has never taken hold of her. And in the dreams she sees them through so many different lives, playing the same games, dancing around one another until one of them relents. That should not be the only thing that keeps her awake, the fear of what truth lies in her dreams, that they could ruin everything with the person that matters the most in this world to her. No, because she should fear the bright blue eyes and the feeling of teeth reaching to pierce her neck. But it’s Margaery she fears, Margaery she hopes will stay away from her as her eyes close.

There’s always been that pull towards Margaery. Her mother used to chastise her and call it an obsession. Perhaps that’s what it is.

They’ve always balanced each other so well, fitting together like the pieces of a puzzle, apart meaningless, but when together a lovely picture. At least that’s how Sansa feels, has always felt. She’s fine with Margaery, or G or Gigi depending on how close one is to her, being the centre attention, preferring the safety of G’s shadow.

Margaery is tactile, she traces the lines of Sansa’s hands and cuddles into her side. And she’s used to it until the dreams begin. With the dreams she can barely keep herself from focusing on anything but the way Margaery’s chest rises and falls and the hope that the way her cheeks redden may be for her. It’s a sudden lack of control she feels whenever she’s around G. Which isn’t very practical, because they’re together constantly, like right now for example. The first day of junior year and she’s trying not to watch G sleep, she really is, but she looks so lovely when she sleeps. Like she’s finally putting down the masks she constantly wears, even around Sansa. And the dream she just awakened from is not the kind she wants to have as she lays next to her best friend. All creamy thighs and whispers of adoration and fealty. They feel so real, like they are from a deep memory inside her that she attempts to reach but instead only feels a barrier.

Her alarm goes off and Sansa lets her eyes fall closed again, moves her limb as if she’s yawning awake as honey eyes flitter open to look at her. These are the moments where she feels like putty the most. The moments where G just looks at her. And maybe Sansa is building it up, but she feels like, only sometimes letting herself, that in these moments G looks at her with a sense of desperation, like she can’t believe Sansa stayed with her, like she can’t believe that she has Sansa. It breaks her heart. Because G is strong, too strong, it’s a function of her upbringing. Mother spending most of the year at the family home in Pentos. Father politically wheeling and dealing. Grandmother the only constant, other than Sansa of course. Grandmother who G loves desperately, but Sansa knows causes the mask to tighten. She used to have Loras, but he’s off at college in Storm’s End. She says she’s going to go out there too after they graduate. Sansa knows she’ll never go too far from King’s Landing. Because in many ways they’re different, but in terms of home they’re the same. It’s part of their blood, their pulses matching the city’s as they pace themselves up and down the streets. Their parents may stress the importance of Winterfell and Highgarden as the ancestral seats of their families, but to both of them King’s Landing is home.

There’s also the sickness. Sansa can’t remember a time she has been sick her entire life until now. Spells of dizziness catch her body and for the first time her parents confine her to her room with the flu. The odd thing is that all her friends, other than Doreah, but Doreah seems to live on another planet entirely, find themselves with the same sickness over the last year all at entire different times.

Robb comes over once when she is in bed even though Sansa’s parents refuse to allow Arya, Bran, or Rickon to enter her room. He tousles her hair with a smile, “You’ll be ok San, just get through this and it will all be ok.” Robb isn’t usually one for cryptic sayings, but Sansa still cannot place what he meant by those words.

It all goes from her head as G lightly kisses her cheek to wake her up. “First day of junior year,” G says it with awe. Sansa knows she’s lucky. She’s the only one that G will let see her in these moments. In those unmasked moments she’ll say things to Sansa, things that weigh Sansa’s stomach down with a stone as pins and needles travel up her frayed nerve endings and memories from dreams play through her mind. G will say things like she can’t sleep without her, things like she loves her best, things like she can’t ever leave her because she would die. They’re hyperbolic, but there’s something about the way that G says them that makes them ring so true, like G’s own Sansa dogma.

This morning she changes much faster than G, whose movements are languid and dreamy, like she’s still asleep, so Sansa watches her as she applies her makeup, her literal mask, though this mask is altogether unnecessary for G’s long eyelashes and flawless pores. Suddenly she feels herself buckle over in pain and in that moment she’s in a very different room, a room from a time she has only read about in books, but in a very similar position. Margaery is placing her wrists to the back of her ears to leave a bit of perfume behind each. She’ll smile over at Sansa every now and then, a wistful turn of the corners of her mouth, looking like she wants to murmur something, only deciding at the last moment that it’s silly with a shake of her head.

Sansa sees Margaery’s mouth moving, can almost feel the words coming over her until she sees she is back in Margaery’s bedroom. Now Margaery has her hands around Sansa’s cheeks and worriedly says her name at increasing volume.

Elinor glides in, her bag over one shoulder, balancing three lattes in her hands, talking about something without realizing the state that Sansa is in. “She’s away right now, Nor. Get me some water.”

Like that she feels the ability to speak slowly move back through her veins. “I’m fine Margaery.” She gives Sansa a pointed look. “Seriously, I don’t know what came over me. Just a little light headed.” Elinor and Margaery share a knowing look but quickly return their attention to Sansa. Sansa thinks about how confidently Margaery told Nor that she was away, like it meant something to Nor. She shakes it off. “However, I will have that latte.”

“Of course you will. How can you make dress code look so fucking perfect Gigi?” Elinor asks as she passes Sansa her latte with kisses to both her cheeks, a habit she now insists on after spending the summer in Monaco. Just like that they’re back to normal, back to three normal high school girls. It’s easy to forget what just happened when Margaery looks the way she does. She looks striking, almost overwhelmingly so. She’s paler than she usually is at the end of summer, having chosen to spend her summer training for ballet instead of joining her family in Pentos. Her hair falls in perfectly constructed honey waves along her face and the content curve of her lips at Elinor’s compliment only serves to heighten the affect of her beauty. G slides by Sansa with a quick careful squeeze of her hand, a sign of concern as much as affection. Sansa could be wrong, because even to her G remains an enigma most of them time, but G’s cheeks redden a bit at the touch, the grin on her face shifting from Elinor’s compliment to something completely foreign. “Did someone tell Dany when she should be ready?” While Sansa and G can fill their time together with continual comfortable silences, Elinor is a constant whir of motion and dialogue. “I talked to Doreah last night, but she’s honestly super helpless.”

“Is Dany still not talking to her?” G asks Elinor as she gracefully lowers herself onto the couch at Sansa’s side, throwing her legs over Sansa’s, rendering her rigid. Margaery doesn’t seem to notice as she looks over her nail beds carefully.

“Oh no they’ve been over that for ages.”

“They weren’t speaking?” Sansa adds. She doesn’t stay as up to the gossip as Elinor, everything is always shifting and she trusts G or Dany to tell her if something of note happens in their small circle.

“You know how the two of them are. Doreah’s such a fucking space case slut and usually Dany loves her, but Dor ditched her this summer when they were at a party to go sleep with a woolly mammoth of a man.” Sometimes it surprises Sansa how Elinor talks about their supposed best friends, it makes her anxious how Nor may wax poetic to G when she’s not around. Right now she mostly feels out of it, a combination of her episode and the way that Margaery lovingly rolls Sansa’s braid in between her hands.

“A fucking space case slut?” G basically hums with a smile back to Nor, who lights up at her cousin’s enjoyment of her choice of words. Because in the end that’s all that Elinor really wants from anything that she says, Margaery’s affirmation. She once admitted to Sansa how hard she thinks it probably is to be G. The obvious heir to the Tyrell family because Willas is a helpless cripple, Garlan following in his father’s unimpressive wake, and Loras too attached to Renly’s ass to do anything of substance; Elinor’s words not hers. Olenna has never and will never expect anything of Elinor, which is why it’s all the more surprising when she does something well or right. It’s better that way she told Sansa as they shared a bottle of wine, waiting for G to finish up with Joffrey as usual. It’s easier to have no expectations and go over them than to have all the expectations of an entire dynasty on her shoulders. It’s one of those ah ha moments Sansa has with G. They still happen even with knowing each other their entire lives.

G’s phone vibrates through Sansa’s leg. “Yeah? We’ll be right down. Thank you.” She hangs up, throwing the phone into her waiting school bag. “Who is ready for junior year losers?” Nor whoops and Sansa tries to smile as big as she can, but there’s this unavoidable feeling in the pit of her stomach, something not too far from terror. Because there’s not only the normal unknowns this year, but there’s also the sensation that there’s something coming that no school lessons can prepare her for.

~

Dany’s waiting for them outside her building, sucking on a cigarette and looking very much like she’s trying to ignore the reason Doreah gesticulates her hand wildly. At the sight of the window rolling down to reveal Elinor rapping along to some song Dany throws her cigarette on the ground, muttering an obvious finally under her breath. Sansa can’t help but smile at the small girl. Dany doesn’t care what anyone around her thinks. Of course Margaery wants everyone to think she doesn’t care either, but that’s certainly not true. Sansa thinks she might care more than anyone else.

It’s a function of their upbringing that they grew up knowing everyone is always watching them, waiting for them to publically mess up. On the other hand Dany’s tragedy has always kept her from that need. Sometimes Sansa forgets how sad Dany’s life has been. Her mother, father, and oldest brother all died in a horrible fire at the family home. Many suspect her bipolar father of burning the place to the ground. Dany never speaks about it. She barely even speaks about her only brother to survive even when they see him stalking the school hallways, often seeming to stalk her. And Sansa loves Dany, sure it’s different than this feeling she has for G, but it’s there, the joy she feels when she sees Dany outside the car aggravated with having spent too much time alone with their other friend.

Doreah flips to face all of them as soon as she climbs into the car. “So did you all get an invite too?” Her eyebrows raise as she looks over at Dany who pulls a thick envelope from her bag.

“Someone apparently dropped it off at my building this weekend for me.” She hands the envelope to Sansa who knows she absolutely saw a similar one in Margaery’s bedroom.

Doreah crosses her arms, “I didn’t if you’re wondering,” she says attempting an annoyed tone over the palpable hurt.

“I haven’t gotten one either,” Sansa offers. “What is it?”

“Some exclusive charity committee for the King’s Landing Blood Bank aptly called ‘The Committee’ that my family certainly doesn’t fit into because we’re not like all of you.” It’s true. Their families historically may have had their share of squabbles and full wars, but that is better than being Doreah’s unknown new money family. Better a known enemy than an unallied mystery. It’s one of the lessons she happened to be present for from Margaery’s grandmother.

It’s odd the way Elinor and Margaery aren’t looking at each other or saying anything. Like they know something. It’s not the first time she’s felt out of a secret in the past few months. There are whispers and glances at certain times that Sansa can’t find the origin of, even the way Elinor and Margaery seemed to know what was going on during her episode this morning.

Dany easily changes the subject to complain about not having the hot French teacher this year and just like that Doreah forgets about the envelope that’s still in Sansa’s hands. She knows that Jon and Robb received an invitation just like this before their junior years, but there hasn’t been much talk about it since then. They went that night and never spoke about it. Odd in terms of Robb, less so Jon who has mastered the act of brooding contemplative silence.

Quickly enough they’re in front of school. Students mill about gossiping about the passing of their summers, their freckled and sun kissed faces stuck in perfect smiles. Joffrey is waiting for Margaery. His gang of brutes flank him on either side. Sansa has always hated the way they look at all of them, like lambs to their slaughter. Once she remembers thinking that Joffrey’s golden hair and cruel wit was incredibly attractive. He was her first kiss no less, her first real crush. Margaery and he have always been better suited for one another with their families pushing them together ever so slowly but surely. They have an empire to run together.

There’s always that second that Margaery looks for her after she throws her arms around Joffrey’s neck, placing her face in the crook to place a kiss to his cheek. Then she’ll turn to Sansa and give her a smile, small as it is but a smile nonetheless. She never knows, has never known, what G means by it. She’s not sure she wants to. Then G will disappear with Joffrey into the building and Sansa will be back by Nor’s side the talking never ceasing.

~

Getting back into school is never a hard transition for Sansa. School is something she finds easy and frankly fun. Shakespeare is a sort of mature fairy tale and calculus has an order to it that relaxes her. She doesn’t see Margaery as much during the school day. She remains resolutely by Joffrey’s side when they’re not in class. Sansa spends lunch after lunch that week with Doreah trying to get more information about the mysterious invitation that Arya gives to Sansa when they run into each other in the hallway on the first day of school. It’s not that she knows anything more, neither of her brothers have much to say when she probes them, though when they discuss it Margaery and Nor still have that abnormal quiet to them. Dor makes them promise to tell her everything when they meet her out after the meeting on Friday, which Dany and she do without another thought while Margery and Nor make no obvious agreement.

It’s her mother who chooses her dress on Friday before the committee meeting, something she hasn’t done for years. Unlike Arya, where her mother gave up years ago because of the battles that ensued when anyone brought her within a ten feet of a dress, Sansa has always understood what sort of dress is expected of her out of any occasion. Her mother lays on her bed a shimmering silver thing with deep blues running through it matching her red hair perfectly. “You’re a Stark Sansa, truly, but you’re a Tully too, maybe more than any of your siblings, these are our colours. It would mean very much to me if you wore them tonight.” Her mother usually asks barely anything of her. There’s the constant undercurrent of behavioural expectations that the Stark children know so well and Sansa keeps strictly to even when her siblings attempt to tease her out of it. Sansa always has known the order of things, understood deftly the way the world works, or more so even the way their world works. Because there are social complexities that are difficult to comprehend for those outside of their world. Their actions matter all the more because of their families histories.

Both her older brothers, Uncle Edmure, Aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr, his lewd grin always present, and her parents see her off at the door. There’s almost that same look that she’s seen pass between G and Nor on all their faces, like they know something she does not, something equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

Even though they barely ever use the car her father chooses to drive her. He lets the radio fill the space between them until they pull up in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. While no one follows the old religion any longer they all know the history of the Sept, dark and light. Now it is mostly used for functions for the rich to wine and dine one another.

She reaches for the door handle, but her father stops her. “You’ll have many questions after tonight Sansa. I will give you all the answers I can. No matter what don’t be afraid. In many ways you’ve always had to be the bravest. I’m so proud of you. I’ve always been. I’ll see you in there.”

“You’re coming in?”

“Of course Sansa, I’m on the board. It’ll all make sense later.” She hates all the cryptic talk going around her. It’s not like it’s confusing enough to be having dreams about making out with your best friend and blacking out into the War of the Five Kings, now everyone has this big secret, but don’t worry it’ll make sense soon. She’s not a little girl, when will they stop treating her like one?

She knows pretty much everyone inside. For the most part they’re in her wide circle of friends. Everyone makes sense, even Podrick Payne, who Joffrey teases mercilessly, except for a fair blonde haired girl standing with Arianne Martell. “One of Oberyn’s bastard daughters. Tyene I think that one is named, she’s pretty I’ll give her that,” Margaery whispers into the shell of her ear, surprising her. She feels the colour begin to warm in her cheeks as Gigi looks at her from under lidded eyes. “Don’t look so nervous San, this is going to be fun.” She takes Sansa’s hand in her own, leading her to Dany who is looking around the room with the weariness she always has at these types of functions.

Sansa has never spent so much time in the Hall of Lamps before. Usually they’re shuffled through to the sept or remain out in the garden if the weather permits. The double doors open with a bang to reveal a woman Sansa doesn’t remember ever seeing. “Follow me.” She leads them all the way through the sept to a door Sansa never remembers noticing directly behind the Stranger. Down a long staircase and hallway through a door that appears to be inlaid with gold. At some point Margaery has let go of her hand and attached herself to Joffrey’s side. For the first time she barely notices.

All the families she’s grown up with are represented in the room, sitting on either side of the longest table Sansa has ever seen. Next to each of them is a uniformed man or woman with a notebook laid in front them. There’s a glassy focused look in their eyes, as if they can’t look away from an object Sansa can’t seem to see. A voice she doesn’t recognize coaxes them to follow their respective uniform into one of the many doors on either side of the room. It’s almost as if Sansa just realizes that this is abnormal as she enter the closet of a room. Her heart rate spikes and she feels that hunger within her, the inexplicable unquenchable thirst. The uniformed woman in front of her has a thick folder with the Stark wolf upon it. “Please confirm your name for me.”

“Sansa Lyanna Stark.”

There’s a cup placed in front of her. She can’t see the liquid inside of it. “Drink.”

“Excuse me?”

“Drink from the cup.” It’s the oddest conversation, if one could call it that, that she can ever recall having. As she lifts the cup up to her lips the scent hits her. It’s as if all the scents she favours most have been bottled and placed into the cup. The ocean, her mother’s perfume, lemon cakes, and something undetectable to anyone other than her, Margaery. Similarly she cannot tell what exactly the drink is just that she’s never tasted anything so wonderful in her life and she never wants to stop.

And just like that the cup is pulled from her hands. Embarrassed at her loss of decorum she wipes her mouth to reveal something deeply red. It almost looks like blood, but it can’t be, blood is iron, not nirvana.

She feels the episode coming over her before she can stop it. She recognizes the garden around her, they’ve returned the gardens to what they looked like hundreds of years ago. The Tyrells donated millions of dollars to make it so. In the distant haze she can see a figure coming towards her at an increasing pace until they’re almost running. It’s Margaery, she knows before she can even see her face clearly.

In a moment so un-Margaery, the shorter girl throws herself into Sansa’s arms. “I cannot Sansa. Grandmother plays her games and she pretends that my decisions matter, that she cares what I want. I try to fight it, but this is how it always has been.” She pulls back from her only to rest her lips on Sansa’s. It’s almost better than whatever Sansa just drank, only marred by the deep confusion and worry for her sanity that she currently feels.

Then, it is gone, replaced with a cold the likes of which Sansa hasn’t felt since they went to Winterfell three winters ago. Her teeth chatter immediately and she reflexively reaches to clutch her shoulders, which she finds to be covered in a massive fur coat. It’s Jon by her side, covered up to his neck in a black uniform, a smile playing on her lips. “I doubted you Sansa. I regret to admit it. It is the truth. I think we all did. You saved us as much as those dragons did. Father and your mother, I cannot begin to express how proud they would be.”

She’s back in the small room now, the cold still on her skin as the woman sits across from her lazily taking notes. “You’ve been having dreams. What happens in them?”

“It’s like I’m in the past. They’re not like dreams. I can’t explain it, they’re like…”

The woman interrupts her, “Memories?”

“Yes, exactly, memories.”

“That’s because they are Sansa. Now you must remain calm, you’ve not always taken this the best way. You’ve been reborn. Your seventh time. When you begin to consistently feed your memories should come back in full force. Less than a year usually from your historical data. It will not be comfortable, but you will come to the sept three times a week for lessons and aid in dealing with the transition.”

“What transition?”

She looks exasperated with Sansa, like she should know all the answers to these questions. “Sometimes you remember right away. It’s quite interesting, we’ve done this a few times, you and me, you’ll remember soon enough. You, your family, most of your friends even, you are part of the original men and women, the immortals. The mortals colloquially call you vampires, quite popular in this timeframe I believe. I’m not one for popular culture, as with all things mortals create it changes too quickly. It does make sense, the beautiful and the damned as they say. Alas I think damned may be a strong word.”

Vampire? What the fuck?

 

 


	2. I got lost in your willingness to dream within the dream

It’s a little like she’s been living her life underwater. As if there’s been something weighing her down and now she’s free. Somewhat like that. Not completely though. Because there’s something that makes the truth almost heavier. In many ways Sansa feels as if everything she has built herself around has been a lie. And there’s this woman looking blankly across at her like Sansa should understand what all this means.

            She doesn’t hear whatever the woman says to her after the whole vampire thing. When she exits the room she looks around for some sign of similarity. Some of the other kids her age have that dazed look on their face, some fear, some relief, and then there’s Margaery. Margaery looks smug, confident, and condescending. Sansa knows she knew before they came here tonight. Margaery is always one step ahead, even of Sansa. It hurts more than it should, Margaery’s choice to keep this from her. When Margaery beckons her over she feels herself turn away, fights every nerve in her body because she now knows that she’s always gone to her, always followed Margaery through lifetime and lifetime, and for the first time she wants to fight it.

            Dany meets her eyes with a lifted eyebrow. Comfort floods her veins at the familiarity of Dany’s smirk. Not everything has to change. “Well that was unexpected,” Dany says when Sansa reaches her.

            The comment from Dany surprises her. Even though Dany seemed like she had no idea all week what was happening Sansa finds herself untrusting in that moment of everyone around her. “You didn’t know?”

            “Absolutely fucking not. Are you joking? I honestly thought I was going crazy.” She says the words with humour in her voice, but Sansa knows there is truth to them that Dany won’t share, will keep to herself until she breaks. “Not big on the information though are they?” Sansa shakes her head. It’s frankly hard for her to get words out the way her head is moving. Pointing at Elinor with her bored look returning to her face she adds, “Elinor beckons.”

            Elinor is motioning for them to follow her up the stairs and out the room, which Dany does after shrugging at Sansa. It’s easy for Dany to pretend everything is ok. It’s what she always does. Sansa, on the other hand, feels like every one of her nerve endings is on fire. She flushes between sweat and freezing cold, following her friends out in a haze into the back of an SUV, not even catching where they are going. They file into a barely lit club, pulsing music surrounding them. She can feel the music in her bones. In fact she can feel everything in a way she never has. Dany grabbing her arm travels straight to her lungs, steeling her breath in her chest. Everyone is dancing and drinking. Dor arrives at some point, drunk and pissed. Offering Sansa a shot, she pulls her up on the couch where Sansa follows her movements. She wonders why no one can tell something is wrong with her. Is this how it is supposed to feel? What has she done wrong?

            Margaery smiles as Joffrey passes her a drink. He kisses her cheek and then her neck. Sansa can almost feel the nip he gives her on that place right above her collarbone. She places two fingers to the same place on her chest.

It’s in that moment that she remembers, remembers Margaery’s smell, unchanged and constant through lifetime and lifetime. The scent travels over to her as if a gust of wind brings it to her nose. Too much for her she has the urge to gag. Instead she turns from it.

Imperceptibly she moves out through the door of the club and into the warm air, the last wisps of summer dancing along her skin. She remembers years full of summers with her father echoeing in her ear that winter is coming, an always-present reminder that nothing is constant, the world will forever be changing. Without another thought she walks home, straight into the comfort of her bed, falling into the most complete dreamless sleep she has had in months.

~

Sansa awakens to someone lowering themself next to her. “It’s just me,” Dany whispers. “Is it ok if I stay here?”

She nods without opening her eyes. It’s silent after that for a few beats. Dany has always felt comfortable in the Stark home. While her apartment is dark and quiet, Sansa’s home is filled with life and noise, children stomping down stairs and parents lovingly tousling their russet hair. Being in Dany’s home always feels a bit like being in a museum to Sansa, a monolith devoted to a different time. “I thought I was going crazy like my father.” It comes out in a whisper, muffled still by a sob that Sansa can tell has been stuck in Dany’s chest for these past months, possibly even years. “It was all fire and blue eyes and voices, all these voices. That’s what he talked about before he died. I remember so much him telling me about the blue eyes, fear the blue eyes. I thought I was going crazy. Is it better that I’m a vampire?” Then she starts laughing. It takes a moment for it to register to Sansa as laughter and not further sobbing, but when she does she joins in. It’s infectious the insanity of the night that they’ve just passed together and she realizes that laughing is the only thing she truly can do right now. “So where’d you sneak off to tonight?”

“Sorry about that I just needed to get out of there.”

She feels Dany’s shoulders go up and down in a shrug, “I get it. Night was pretty crazy.”

“Margaery knew. She knew about all of it.”

“She is always one step ahead.”

“Do you remember her from before?”

“Not really yet. They said the memories would come once we started feeding more regularly. Do you remember her?”

“She’s the only thing I remember to be perfectly honest.”

“You love her.” It’s matter of fact from Dany. Maybe she’s just connected the pieces that she has been orbiting around or maybe she’s always known.

“I think so. I mean I think I always have.”

“It’s a weird sensation isn’t it? Knowing you’ve lived these lives with the same people over and over again. Makes me feel out of control.”

“That’s a good way of describing it.”

“I don’t know about you but I need to sleep.”

“Absolutely. Sleep well.”

“You too San.”

She turns her back to Dany, pulling the blankets up to her chin and falling into a fitful slumber.

It’s a dream she’s never had before that night. Joffrey cruelly grins at her. She recognises it but there is something deeper to it, something she’s never seen before. The rest of the scene slowly comes into focus and she sees a sword finely chop off a head. It takes her a moment to realize it’s her father’s rolling on the ground, the eyes still oddly alive. A scream erupts from her as she jolts awake. Dany sits up next to her, seemingly not too shaken by Sansa’s sudden reaction as she wraps her hand around Sansa’s shoulder. “You’re ok San. Whatever it was, you’re ok.”

She nods. There’s something blocking her from sharing with Dany the images of her dreams. Although she won’t admit it she wants Margaery. It’s an all consuming ache for her. When she breathes she breathes out Margaery and breathes her right back in. She may not remember their history, but she knows that this need for G has always been there as much as she has ever tried to fight it.

~

Sansa spends the weekend in and out of fever dreams of Margaery and Joffrey, unable to distinguish the love from the hate. Sweat covers her heat emanating body. Her mother and father take turns changing the cool washcloths on her head and helping her from the bathroom back to bed. She falls through consciousness with her cheek pressed to the cool bathroom floor. Dany remains steadfastly by her side with a worried quirk in her eyebrow the only thing sharing her anxiety. She hears whispers of rejection and a doctor coming to her side and giving her mother blood red pills. By Monday she feels better enough to take a shower and walk to school alongside Arya. Dany was instructed the night before to return to her own house and get her homework done.

Arya pretends to focus on her phone, but Sansa can feel her eyes on her. “I’m fine Arya.” She pauses while Arya gives her an accusatory once over. She puts her hand up in a mock form of declaration. “I swear.” Arya nods in return, chewing on her lip in that way she always does. “How goes ninth grade?” Sansa is good at this, changing the subject away from her to her siblings and while Arya is certainly aware of this she allows the shift.

“Oh you know I’m not made for state forced structured learning. At least I get to ride the horses and participate in school sponsored fighting.” Sansa smiles at her younger sister, so different than her. She finds herself jealous of Arya quite often. Their mother always laments that Arya walks to the beat of her own drum, a beat that no one else is even on the same wavelength as, but Arya is always happy. They used to fight mercilessly. Pulling at each other’s hair and pinching each other’s legs under the dinner table, they never stopped. Now they have found an appreciation for each other, a love for each other’s differences. That doesn’t mean they still don’t pinch at each other every now and then.

And just like that they’re in front of school. They walk in together until Arya nudges Sansa’s shoulder, salutes her, and descends into the basement for class. Sansa sighs. Her head begins to spin. Leaning against the wall, she can’t fight her body clattering to the floor and her eyes glazing over.

It’s a different time, probably the Age of Revolution considering the clothing, when their families fell from kings and queens to find different ways to control the masses. She’s not sure where she is as her legs hurry her down a barely lit hallway toward a door. Behind the door Margaery sits languidly, her face darkening with an unreadable expression when Sansa closes the door behind her. There are maids packing, but Margaery sends them away with a wave of her hand.

Margaery gets up slowly and takes Sansa’s hands in her own, leading her towards the bed. Sansa’s legs hit the back, forcing her to sit down and Margaery follows suit, wrapping her legs around Sansa as she begins to kiss her neck with increasing desperation. “We do not have time.” Sansa knows the words come from her own mouth, but they feel separate from her. “You have to choose Margaery.” The smaller girl responds with a pout. “This is not a game. They’ll kill you if you do not denounce the Lannisters. The people hate them.”

“As do you Sansa.”

“I do.” She says it matter of factly, like the only truth she knows in that moment.

“I adore your jealously.” Margaery leans her head down again and traps Sansa’s lips. It feels divine. She doesn’t want to fight any bit of it. For some reason she does, throwing Margaery from her lap and onto the bed.

“I have done what I can, but if you will not do what you must I can no longer be of service to you.”

“I cannot leave Joffrey, he is my husband.”

“Here we are once again.”

“You know I love you desperately Sansa. It is my depravity. Grandmother will fix this for us, I know she will.”

“If she does not?”

“Then you will grieve me as you have done before and we will find each other in the next lifetime as we always do.”

Hot tears prick the corners of Sansa’s eyes. Instead of sadness though all she can feel coursing through her, hot and fiery within her veins, is anger at Margaery. “You assume too much.” She slams the door behind her not even turning around at Margaery’s increasingly desperate calls of her name. This is enough. She will not do this again.

A warm hand on her cheek revives her from the past. Oddly it’s Ariane Martell’s newly discovered cousin Tyene’s hand. There’s concern deeply etched onto her face until she realizes that Sansa is staring back at her and her balanced sneer returns. “Are you alright?”

Quickly Sansa smooths her skirt and stands up. “Of course, I just need caffeine.”

“You’re crying Sansa.” She reaches up to touch the wetness of her cheeks, thinking she left them behind in her memory, however, she finds them there, real as Tyene standing in front of her. “You don’t remember me do you?”

“Do we have some sordid history filled with deception and revenge?” She means it as a joke, but after the weekend she’s had it comes out as a hope for some sort of truth. It makes Tyene smile, a devious expression that she reveals slowly from the middle of her lips up to the corners of her eyes ending with an almost imperceptible laugh as she shakes her blonde head from one side to the other.

“Not that I remember. Your family visited my family in Dorne years ago, we played together.”

“You held my head under water!”

Tyene shrugs as the smile beams brighter. “I liked you.”

“That’s how you treat the people you like?”

“Imagine how it is for the people I don’t.” Maybe she’s joking, maybe she wants to ruffle Sansa’s feathers. Well she most certainly wants to do that. All while retaining that roguish glint in her eye. Still there’s an edge in Tyene’s words, like she’s been messed with before and will not allow it to happen before. Now she’s in control. Sansa guesses that they’ve all been messed with before.

Something catches Tyene’s eye behind Sansa, immediately darkening her face. Quickly Sansa turns around to see a bashful looking Margaery looking directly at her under hooded eyes. “Sansa,” she murmurs. And Sansa wants to turn back around to Tyene so badly, wants to reject the pull that she feels towards her, but as much as she wants it and even though she doesn’t completely understand why she says her goodbyes to Tyene with promises that she’ll see her later and makes her way towards Margaery. Immediately Margaery takes Sansa’s hand in her own, moving Sansa’s palm in between her two, seemingly unable to make eye contact. “I couldn’t tell you. Grandmother made me promise. You believe me don’t you?” Sansa nods. Truthfully she does believe her. Of course she does. Olenna makes Margaery promise many things. It’s all too clear then to Sansa that she has lived lifetime after lifetime with Margaery choosing her grandmother over her. The rage from her memory returns.

She pulls Margaery behind her into the closest empty classroom, slamming the door behind her as she pushes Margaery against the wall and captures her lips in her own. Sansa deepens her grip on her hips and swallows a gasp from Margaery’s throat. It feels all too good like Sansa is complete and in some ways she hates that it does. She almost wants to feel nothing when their lips finally met. As if she didn’t know she would feel everything. Suddenly Margaery pushes her away. Gathers herself. Prepares herself. And then, “We’re not meant to repeat our lives over and over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just because we did something once does not mean we must do it again.” Sansa is dumbfounded. She felt the way Margaery folded into her, the way she exhaled like she’d been waiting for Sansa to kiss her forever. “I’m with Joffrey.”

Sansa can’t speak, can barely move for a moment. This is certainly not the reaction she expected. So she does what she only can think of and turns from Margaery. Evidently she is not meant to make this mistake again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Separating herself from Margaery is easier than Sansa expects. It’s been a month since she pushed G against the wall then was considerably rejected. At least school fills her days as her skin itches for blood. She knows she needs to drink, it’s all everyone around her seems to be able to talk about, constantly reminding her that it’s her nature, it’s perfectly acceptable. Even Dany joins in when she finds Sansa shivering under four blankets one day after school. She assures them that she will, she just needs to find the right time, let her go at her own pace.

Although separating physically from Margaery is easy she still thinks about her, if she’s being honest she yearns for her, finds herself waking up in the middle of the night reaching out for her. Margaery barely looks at her even in the moments when they’re accidentally with their friends at the same time. She can tell it’s getting harder for G. She pinches her skin when Sansa is around, an anxious habit she rid herself of when they started middle school.

Alcohol and the bass of music seems to be the only thing that can mask the itching in her skin. Dutifully Dany follows her each night, making sure she gets home all right. It’s better when she can’t remember the night before.

She wakes up after a night of partying, moving to turn over, to revel in the lack of obligations the day provides, but the running of feet towards her door rouses her. Arya throws the door open with a panicked expression on her face. “You’re here,” she exhales as soon as she sees Sansa in the bed.

“Where else would I be?”

“Jeyne Poole… she’s, she’s dead and I didn’t know if you’d come home last night.” She reaches out to pull Arya towards her, whispering words of calm into her hair as Arya’s tears drip down her face. Jeyne. She had seen her last night out at the club they’d all partied in. Sansa doesn’t remember when Jeyne left, but then again she can barely remember when she left. How could she be dead?

Grabbing her phone, she dials Dany’s number, she doesn’t answer, making the blood pulse in Sansa’s ears. “Do they know what happened Arya?”

“Drugs they’re saying. Dad’s been on the phone all morning about it according to Bran.” Bran never stops listening in, it’s like he’s in their heads sometimes. The thing is Jeyne doesn’t, didn’t, do drugs. Unlike most of them she chose to reject any papers or powders brought around her. She never bowed to the pressure.

“I have to go talk to Dad Arya. Are you going to be ok?”

“As long as you’re ok.” Sansa nods then descends the staircase.

Her dad’s office is closed. That never stops her. He has his head in his hands when she steps through the door. Jon is sitting in the corner tapping something on a phone. He gives her a pained smile before moving towards the door. “Wait. Jon, get Robb then come back.” His voice surprises her, she’s never heard it sound weaker. Jon nods, coming back only a minute later with Robb in tow. At the sight of the two of them he taps a numerical code onto a pad Sansa has never seen before. Behind him his code reveals a well lit metallic passage, much more modern than the sept. Robb looks to both of them before leading the way behind their father, as it has always been, as Sansa feels like it always will be. Their father leads them into some sort of armoury. There are knives and bows and guns and at the end of the room seven swords hanging on the wall. “I would have hoped you would not need these in this lifetime, but alas I could not protect you once again.” He hands them each a gleaming blade. “Jeyne Poole had no blood left in her body, drained completely.” Robb and Jon’s faces immediately turn ashen at their father’s words.

“What does that mean?” Sansa asks. She doesn’t think she wants the answer and somehow she knows she already knows it, deep inside of her she knows this is the worst possible thing to happen, she just can’t grasp what it is. Like an errant fly buzzing around her head.

“We need blood to regenerate, to come back, live more lives. Jeyne’s draining not only means she won’t return ever it also confirms a theory we’ve held for a long time. Something none of us have had to face since your friend Daenerys and her dragons roamed free. White walkers.”

Suddenly the blue eyes make sense. Her nightmares have a name and the memories come flooding back. Watching Dany sitting astride Drogon with Jon at her side as the blue eyes burn to ash. They had all been gone, that’s what they said. She can see herself in Winterfell with the two by her side celebrating their victory. Where was Margaery she wonders? What had happened this time to keep them apart?

The rest of their conversation comes to Sansa in flashes. As if she’s inside a memory and not the present with her father explaining that they’ll need to include more intense fight training in their lessons, especially now that the Age of Dragons has disintegrated.

~

Jeyne’s funeral passes in an extremely odd fashion. While the mortals cry the immortals stare at each other in disbelief. Arms encircle each other numbly. They all felt so safe until this moment. Not even bothering to tell their children that their nightmares are reality.

Sansa watches Margaery throughout the proceedings, her body curled under Joffrey’s arm, an exemplary showing of grief in her opinion.

It looks like Margaery wants to approach her as they stand in line to give their commiserations to Vayon and his wife. She doesn’t when Tyene sidles up to Sansa, only slightly hiding her grin with the appropriate amount of grief.

Sometimes she catches Tyene watching her during class or across the lunchroom. Still Tyene stays consistently by her cousin Arianne’s side who in turn is flocked by a group of young men who appear to be spun in their web. She smiles at them and laughs at their jokes, but Sansa can see her watching her out of the corner of her eye.

When Sansa brings Tyene up at dinner one night Jon and Robb smile lewdly at one another. Their father fixes that quickly with a stiff look at the two. Finally after pushing from Sansa as they clean dishes they acquiesce to her demands for more information. “Tyene Martell is a Sand Snake.” Sansa must look at Robb dumbly because he continues. “One of Oberyn Martell’s daughters.”

“Everyone knows that,” Sansa says roughly. It’s as if they think she’s dumb.

Jon takes over, “They are persuasive let’s just say and charming, very much like their father. Fiercely loyal to one another and Arianne, but not to anyone else.”

“What was your little smile back there for then?”

“They’re hot!” Robb exclaims throwing his hands in the hair. “The Sand Snakes are known for being super super hot.” Jon shrugs in agreement, looking towards the door probably hoping that his girlfriend Ygritte won’t show up out of thin air as she is apt to do.

And it’s true Tyene is hot, objectively of course. The conversation sticks in her head when she finds Tyene’s eyes on her the next few days. She has taken to hiding in the library, annotating her readings and almost manically solving math problems. It’s there that Tyene finds her during lunch one day.

Tyene throws her bag on the desk and takes the chair next Sansa, pulling it closer so that Sansa can smell her. She smells like a dry summer day. “Arianne is having a party tonight you should come.” Sansa doesn’t reply, instead erasing the chemical formula in front of her. “It’s got to be more interesting than this and you need to drink.” Tyene presses Sansa’s pulse in her neck. Sansa stills, nearly dropping her pencil. “It’s your colour that’s changed the most, almost imperceptible to the mere mortals surrounding us, but not to someone who watches you. I’m sure your little rose has noticed.” It all comes out of her mouth all wrong, venomous and treacherous and she’s not sure why Tyene feels the need to bring up Margaery.

“I have plans with Dany.” It’s not a lie, maybe not the truth though, she’d mentioned something about a movie to Dany as she passed her a coffee before they separated for first period.

“Bring the Mother of Dragons! You know Arianne and her brother were once engaged. Not that it matters, the past is just that, the past. Though that little spectacle did not make Daddy very happy. Considering he doesn’t abide by many rules it’s not easy to upset him.”

“From what I’ve heard the Sand Snakes don’t have many rules to begin with.” Tyene smiles at her before placing a hand on her thigh, the material of Sansa’s dress code approved tights the only thing separating their skin. It sends a shock through her, a shock that can’t compare to the feeling when Margaery touches her, but a shock nonetheless. She wishes she wasn’t thinking about Margaery right now. “Ok, I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“I could use the night out.”

“Your words not mine. Party starts around eleven, but feel free to come whenever.”

~

Of course Dany agrees to come with her and both of them happily accept when Doreah asks to join them. They meet up at Dor’s house to pass a bottle of alarmingly cloying alcohol around. Although it has taken more to get Sansa drunk since her whole vampirism began she feels free, untethered to societal conventions, by the time they arrive at Arianne Martell’s apartment building. The apartment is beautiful, but its main feature is the massive pool in the middle that goes from ankle deep to darkness. Party goers splash in it, some smart enough to bring their bathing suits.

Arianne is the one to greet them with drunken hugs as she insists that Arys Oakheart retrieve drinks for them, his eyes unable to remove themselves from Arianne’s chest though Sansa doesn’t necessarily blame him as her bathing suit barely covers anything. He returns with Tyene in tow. Her eyes travel up Sansa approvingly before she introduces Doreah to some meathead friend of Arys’. Sansa is not sure why she does this. Tyene barely knows Dor. Dor seems happy enough and urges them away when Tyene starts to usher them into a door that Sansa didn’t notice before. “Now here’s the real party. I wasn’t sure how you felt about your mortal friend joining. Seems like the two of you might be sensitive about that type of thing.” It’s the smell that hits her before she can see anything in the room. The addictiveness of it blinding her, she needs it she knows and she won’t be able to control herself. Tyene smiles at her, if possible it’s even more scheming than usual. Her eyes even out and she takes in the all glass room around her. There’s a few people she recognises from school, mostly older, but mostly it’s extremely attractive people she’s never seen before.

From the other side of the room she sees a dash of honey hair and she panics until she sees it’s Loras coming towards her, not Margaery. He gathers her in his arms, murmuring her name like an exhale of breath. “Didn’t think I would see little Lady Stark at a sordid fêtê like this.”

She reddens. Though she feels nowhere the same for Loras as she does for Margaery it’s difficult to not under his beautiful gaze, even when he finds his joy from teasing her. “Tyene invited me. I didn’t even know you were home.”

A shadow runs over his face, so much like that of Margaery’s, so quickly corrected with a dazzling smile. “Margaery has been a bit down recently so I thought I’d come for the weekend. I tried to convince her to join me tonight. Alas she chose the moping in her bed option. You know what a bit of blood can do to correct a mood.” Tyene joins the two of them, offering Sansa a cup of what she knows is blood from the smell alone. “This must be Tyene Martell who I’ve been hearing so much about. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Loras Tyrell.”

“The pleasure is mine though I’m concerned you’re not accompanied by your sister. I know Sansa is very fond of her.”

Loras doesn’t falter though he obviously understands that acerbic bite to Tyene’s words. He responds sweetly with a non-committal shrug, “I’m sure she’ll make it to a famed Martell party one of these days.” Tyene smiles back. One of those smiles that Sansa has learned is not really a smile at all, but a grimace. Loras wins this round.

There’s something Sansa doesn’t like about the way they speak to each other. Like they want to prove Sansa’s allegiance truly lies with them. Sansa knows she realised a long time ago that she is much more than just alabaster skin and shining red hair. Still she lets Tyene lead her away from Loras who sends her an almost imperceptible wink as a goodbye.

Without the distraction of their banter she remembers the sweet smelling liquid in her cup. How she could ever forget she doesn’t know as she feels the unfamiliar pain of two of her teeth growing out of her gums into sharp points. This time when Tyene smiles at her it is all teeth, obviously to reveal her own glittering fangs. Sansa attempts to sip the cup like a lady. Alas once the liquid touches her lips she takes the rest down in large refreshing gulps. It’s like she hasn’t drank for days. Like she travelled through the desert and finally reached the oasis of water.

And then Tyene kisses her. First a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth then more forcefully. It feels good. Very good. Different though. She knows she’s kissed before many times even a few different people because it was not always Margaery and she, no, there were others. She wishes it didn’t make her miss Margaery. She wishes that memories didn’t flash before her eyes of Margaery’s eyes slowly closing before laying her lips on Sansa’s. It sucks. Truly.

Tyene leads her out of the room and down a hallway into what most be her room. They unclothe each other. Barely there fabric dropping to the floor.

After the release Sansa doesn’t feel empty. Instead she feels full, like she could burst as Tyene traces the curves of her hip, peppering kisses on the freckles of her shoulder. Suddenly sadness wells within her and she knows it’s not from this moment. Finding herself in the past, she watches as Jon slowly shakes his head, holding her hands in his. “I know the Tyrells showed you some kindness. I am sorry this has happened to them.” It’s blinding grief, visceral, she can’t hold herself up, can’t think of anything but Margaery dying in an explosion of green fire.

Tyene coaxes her back into the present, asking her where she went. Sansa lies easily, too easily for how shaken she feels, how the grief rips through her body as if Jon is there telling her the news about Margaery in the room with her. She’s trapped by the sensation that she needs to leave, like magnets in her body dragging her out of bed and into the street. She waits until Tyene dozes off then tangles her clothes from Tyene’s, throwing them on her body. With one last look at the jumble of blonde hair and tan skin curled up on the many pillows she makes her way out of the apartment and onto the street.

In the haze she can’t remember how she finds herself in front of the Tyrell building. It glows with the many lights around her. The security guards usher her through and up into the elevator. The lights of the city lead her towards Margaery’s bedroom, which tumbles her into the darkness of closed blinds. Even in the dark she can find her way to the other girl, placing her hand gently on Margaery’s cheek. “Sansa,” she whispers so much like a prayer. “What are you doing here?” Sansa can’t help it, or even more so has no control over the emotion that brings the fresh tears to her eyes. “Are you crying San?” Margaery takes Sansa’s hand in her own and presses the fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispers as she kisses each finger. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sansa knows what those words mean, she can feel it inside of her. I love you, I love you, I love you. And for now that can be enough.


End file.
